In the early summer of 1831 Samson Traylor and his wife, Sarah, and two children left their old home near the village of Vergennes, Vermont, and began their travels toward the setting sun with four chairs, a bread board and rolling-pin, a feather bed and blankets, a small looking-glass, a skillet, an axe, a pack basket with a pad of sole leather on the same, a water pail, a box of dishes, a tub of salt pork, a rifle, a teapot, a sack of meal, sundry small provisions and a violin, in a double wagon drawn by oxen.  It is a pleasure to note that they had a violin and were not disposed to part with it.  The reader must not overlook its full historic significance.  The stern, uncompromising spirit of the Puritan had left the house of the Yankee before a violin could enter it.  Humor and the love of play had preceded and cleared a way for it.  Where there was a fiddle there were cheerful hearts.  A young black shepherd dog with tawny points and the name of Sambo followed the wagon or explored the fields and woods it passed.

If we had been at the Congregational Church on Sunday we might have heard the minister saying to Samson, after the service, that it was hard to understand why the happiest family in the parish and the most beloved should be leaving its ancestral home to go to a far, new country of which little was known.  We might also have heard Samson answer: 

“It’s awful easy to be happy here.  We slide along in the same old groove, that our fathers traveled, from Vergennes to Paradise.  We work and play and go to meetin’ and put a shin plaster in the box and grow old and narrow and stingy and mean and go up to glory and are turned into saints and angels.  Maybe that’s the best thing that could happen to us, but Sarah and I kind o’ thought we’d try a new starting place and another route to Heaven.”

Then we might have seen the countenance of the minister assume a grave and troubled look.  “Samson, you must not pull down the pillars of this temple,” he said.

“No, it has done too much for me.  I love its faults even.  But we have been called and must go.  A great empire is growing up in the West.  We want to see it; we want to help build it.”

The minister had acquired a sense of humor among those Yankees.  Years later in his autobiography he tells how deeply the words of Samson had impressed him.  He had answered: 

“Think of us.  I don’t know what we shall do without your fun and the music of your laugh at the pleasure parties.  In addition to being the best wrestler in the parish you are also its most able and sonorous laugher.”

“Yes, Sarah and I have got the laughing habit.  I guess we need a touch of misery to hold us down.  But you will have other laughers.  The seed has been planted here and the soil is favorable.”

Samson knew many funny stories and could tell them well.  His heart was as merry as The Fisher’s Hornpipe.  He used to say that he got the violin to help him laugh, as he found his voice failing under the strain.